#v: we are what we pretend to be

[feminaferitas]

@perfectionreached is the maid of honor on Shauna's happy (?) day

Thank god for wedding day superstitions. The groom wasn't allowed to see the bride until that fateful walk down the aisle, so that meant Jeff wasn't nearby to see Shauna threatening to ruin an hour's worth of careful makeup with an ill-timed bout of tears. Taissa, her maid of honor, was on damage control, and boy, was it a lot of damage.

Not only was the sight of herself in a white dress (pure as the driven, deadly snow) hard to comprehend, but Shauna just remembered something--

"Tai, there's... there's the cake knife. Oh, god -- it's beautiful and it has our initials engraved on it. It was a gift from the Taylors, and what if I try to hurt him with it?"

For almost two years of her life, knives had not been beautiful, silvered things for slicing sugared breads in delicately manicured hands. They were hard, leather-wrapped things with edges held to the whetstone, pointed and lethal. Shauna had wrapped her dirtied fingers around the handle and skinned, cleaved, and butchered humans and animals alike. Hungry eyes holding fast, watching. What would she do today, in front of the crowd of loved ones waiting to see how that cake would bleed what flavor they'd finally decided on?

"Taissa, I don't think I can do this..."

Yes, thank god for wedding day superstitions. Too bad they never said nothing about seeing the ghost of your dead best friend sitting in the corner, watching the scene and saying absolutely nothing.

[lanternlightss]

okay .. take two !!!

+ bonus doodles

[lostryu]

some of u are so pressed that the core of lesbianism is NOT being attracted to men and u will write essays on how lesbians should want to be w men physically and romantically and not understand that u are being lesbophobic! like im sorry that boundaries exist, maybe u should read an inspirational tumblr post abt respecting boundaries and learn 2 be better?

[moeblob]

There was a post I saw about someone who mutually ghosted a guy after a date and kept matching with him and they're not interested but it's the longest "relationship" the person had been in at that point and I'm like. Karen would mutually ghost someone.

She doesn't really tell Brent/Right/Evelyn/Chris his name (he has a double first name, Patrick is not his last name) and just refers to him as "My Guy". Like "Ah damn, My Guy matched again. End my suffering." And when she tries to explain it to Right who does NOT understand how it's different, her logical answer is "it's my God given right to ghost a polite man!"

Also I just imagine her confiding in Paul about Rick and he's like "is his name Patrick" and she's like "kinda". And after that, Paul calls him "Pattycakes" cause he's never even seen the guy so why not give him a funny little nickname. He's allowed to do so at this point probably.

[cheriboms]

doctober day 11: briefcase

because a scientist lawyer has gotta keep his invention blueprints legal documents SOMEWHERE >_>

[daybreakrising]

@immobiliter: Port Ormos was the usual chaotic hive of activity, sailors and students of the Akademiya and mercs all gathered together in one cacophonous hub. Dehya didn't often frequent the port, but a particularly interesting merc contract had been forwarded to the Blazing Beasts that had kept her here longer than she'd intended to stay. A personal request for her services from a sea captain in Liyue — claiming to have seen her skills in action apparently. Escorting a delivery across the desert was a reliable job for mora, but across an ocean? It was new and exciting, and hadn't she talked for weeks about wanting to travel to new places?

Upon finally meeting her employer, however, Dehya's curiosity was piqued even more. Not some grizzled older sea captain, but a woman. Bold and assured, giving orders as confidently as she herself would command her Beasts. “ I gotta say... these are generous terms for an armed escort on board your ship, captain. ” Dehya held the newly signed contract in her hand ( from the nation of contracts itself: she had no reason to doubt that this Captain Beidou would honour her end of their deal ), but her eyes were more drawn towards the slew of men and women who were making final preparations on the wharf to set off back towards their ship. This wasn't to be her usual kind of bodyguard gig, huh. “ Though I can't help but notice you and your men seem more than capable of defending yourselves. ”

If there is one thing Beidou has learned over her years at sea, it is always, always, worth taking on extra hands with local knowledge. Often, these extra hands come in the form of other sailors, borrowed from crews that can spare them, or those hopeful souls seeking a life upon the ocean but yet to secure a ship to call home.

This time, however, she has sought the expertise of someone who couldn't be farther from a sailor if she tried. Some might question why a sea captain required the assistance of a desert mercenary - and, in truth, there was a certain degree of curiosity involved. She'd heard tales of Dehya and her Blazing Beasts prior to her arrival in Port Ormos. Who could blame her for wanting to see the Flame-Mane for herself?

"Full pockets make for happier crewmates than empty ones." The captain shrugs a shoulder lightly, an easy smile upon her face as she studies the woman standing before her. Every bit the warrior she expected, Dehya strikes an imposing figure with an unmistakable presence to her. Already, Beidou knows they're going to get along great.

At the mercenary's observation, she barks out a hearty laugh, hands settled upon her hips as she, too, quickly scans her crew at work. "Ah, but it never hurts to have another set of capable hands at the ready, no?" There's a wink delivered from her only visible eye. "You never know what you're going to come across out on the water, after all."

She leans in closer, lowering her voice to a more conspiratorial whisper. "And I confess, I can never resist the opportunity to check out a local legend."

[un-pearable]

✌️ day two of grad school survived

[milflewis]

.

[synthville]

“Having never wept, I hope yours to be happy.”

RAFFI MUSIKER ST: PIC - S03E10

[waywardly-we-go]

[safert0fu]

dottir and dottir-in-law. modern au edition.

[feminaferitas]

@darkconsumed {shauna} has come home from the wilderness to find the ghost of Jackie Taylor in her home

The wild was reluctant to let the girls escape its claws. And whether or not the rescue constituted true salvation would remain to be seen. Their numbers had dwindled, and not everyone came back. Jackie's bones were buried at the crash site and when the wreckage was cleared, what would be left of her?

Jackie Taylor had died and was eaten, that much was true. But she wouldn't die as long as Shauna Shipman carried the immaterial bones of her absence along with her. And so they were back in Wiskayok, together once more.

"Welcome home, Shauna."

True, Jackie hadn't appeared to her in some time. Shauna's mental state had been pretty fragile after that first cold snap. Eating her best friend's flesh seemed to sate the hunger in her mind, the starving need for the other to be there with her. But with the beast in their bellies quieted, Jackie's spirit could not be conjured from the clutches of the wilds. She served her purpose in the great food chain. And the team survived the winter because of her.

But now that the survivors were home, moments of Jackie were frozen in time across the town of Wiskayok, bitterly cold. The story told everyone was she died in the initial crash -- it was a mercy. For the girls, for her parents. But she could tell the unsettled Shauna hungered again for her best friend's touch. They had sat together in this bedroom many times before -- maybe if someone squinted, they would see the weight of Jackie's life in the pillows, the wrinkles in the quilt, the creases in the closet full of sweaters, secrets, and a life interrupted.

"What, no hug? You made it, Shipman. That's worth celebrating."

[thatfaerieprincess]

Feel free to skip on past this, I’ve just gotta ramble for a minute bc i cant stop thinking about this kid from work last week. They were so much like me at that age (5-6th grade) that I didn’t know how to interact with them? I didn’t know what to say to them bc I don’t know what I needed to hear back then, what I would’ve WANTED to hear? What would I have even listened to? They were almost entirely silent and looked out at the world with a hesitant curiosity, but would pull back so fast as soon as you tried to interact w them. Little to no eye contact, face hidden in hair, always looking down, following others until they could strike off on their own and just quietly explore. Intently focusing on drawing any chance they got. We did an art project and they hunched over their piece the entire time and wouldn’t let any of us see it in progress, refusing to look up or acknowledge us if we asked to see it or to know what it was. Idk. I barely interacted w them while they were with us for those few days bc I didn’t know how? It almost hurt to try? It was like looking back into a time machine and i didn’t know how to tell them that it does get better,,, I still don’t even know if where I am is better, some days feel so unsure that I don’t think I’ve made any progress at all. But seeing that kid, idk. I’ve come pretty far. And it DOES get better. Maybe it’s not the best now, or even that great at all, but it’s better. I wish I could’ve told them but I don’t think they’d have wanted to hear it anyway

[aetherose]

Anonymous Sent: [ totally anon ] i have several problems with you Mobius. all of them include how insane you are.

Anonymously tell my muse what the fuck is wrong with them.

An innocent giggle leaves the scientist! "You wouldn't be the first nor last to say that...and guess what? I. Don't. Care~"

[clochanamarc]

" i need you to listen to me, right now. are you listening?! " she's urgent. probably frightening them with her tone, with her grip on their arms, with the way she just bolted the door and dragged a chair beneath the handle. but fear is possibly the only advantage they have right now. so she does nothing to soften her voice. " there are people out there, right now, who want you dead. okay? very dangerous, powerful people, and believe me when i say that they will stop at nothing to achieve that goal. so you need to focus, and you need to come with me, right now. understand?! "

OPEN STARTER! / OPEN TO MUTUALS ONLY.

[piraticalwit]

@twistedwit: finally kissing the person you’ve been pining for . (soldier)

The pub is a haze of smoke and laughter, a blend of music from an ill-tuned guitar played by a shy owner with a quavering voice and the shouts of a crowd that insult and encourage with equal fervor... and from his chosen table in the back corner, Killian watches through a warm fog of drink. Dimly he's aware of a sharp crack on a what should've been easy note, and a small voice in the corner of his mind wonders why someone hasn't put the poor sod out of his misery already, phantom fingers plucking at invisible strings as an aching wrist is shoved further into his jacket pocket. Smee laughs at one of Starkey's jokes, a loud and raucous noise followed by a flush of embarrassment as he realizes too late that he's reacted too soon ... so afraid of being left in the dark by those he considers friends that he's willing to risk the part of the fool. His eyes flicker toward their appointed leader, the glue that holds their band of misfits together despite the jagged thundercloud that so often lashes out like a whip, as if awaiting Killian's judgment - but the Irishman is too lost in the weight of the knee currently nudging against his own to give a damn about poking at the easy target that is William Smee.

A single brow arches as that leg nudges his all the harder, stubbled features giving way to the grin that slides slow and easy across rum flavored lips. Fingers seek out the older man's own, interlacing in a tangle of warmth and acceptance that sends his heart thudding against the hollowed cage of his chest while he does his best to feign interest in whatever the fuck Starkey and Cecco are arguing about now. It's the same really - aye, it's as if nothing has changed. Poor acoustics and a packed pub giving way to a night where they all spend many a hour talking over the top of one another and doing their best to drown less important people out. Smee is confused as always, head swiveling this way and that and brows furrowed as if he's trying to work out whether or not any of them are having the same damn conversation... Cecco is loud and boisterous, thumping the table in emphasis of some strongly held opinion that no one gives a shit about while carefully avoiding the reach of any punch that Starkey might decide to throw at him.... and Starkey is that ever stalwart presence, the one who watches the castle fall down around him and spends every waking second patiently repairing it, stone by stone meant to bolster his best friend's ego and keep their half rotten dinghy afloat. Killian watches it all with fascination, wonders how things can feel no different when so many things are (the loss of a hand, the gain of a new addition), and carefully avoids that knowing grin that his best friend (first mate, as he likes to say) sometimes throws his way.

Later, when they've all stumbled their way out the door and into the cold night air (some more gracefully than others), the Irishman holds back, pretends an attempt at regaining his balance by leaning against the rough brick wall, hand and wrist shoved firmly into pockets. He plans on apologizing, maybe saying something vague and offhanded in the chance that his date has spent the last four hours trying to plan an escape from the three ringed circus that is Killian Jones and his band of misfit followers, but he remembers the playful nudge underneath the table and the way his fingers felt wrapped in the other man's own .... so when Guy steps in front of him, a presence he can feel as if the very air is charged between them, forget-me-not blues open to meet ones so akin in color to their own.

"Hello, gorgeous." It's a playful greeting, a slur of words carried on a drink flavored lilt.. but before he can offer up anything else (a joke maybe.. or an offer to use the measly amount of money in his wallet to buy them a pizza or something..), the other man is catching his chin with a grip that he is fairly sure sends his heart leaping from his chest and into the middle of the bloody pavement.

Fuck.

The kiss, when it comes, is everything he had always wondered if it would be - a promise sealed in mint and scant beer and the taste of something that he will later come to know is distinctly Guy and the Irishman feels the what was give way to what will be. Somewhere the shadow of his life before the desert heat and the harsh flames of a vengeful god evaporates into the night, and some new part of him leaps at this chance of hope and rightness that weaves its way into his bones. When the older man moves to pull away, fingers creep out from their hiding spot inside his coat to curl around the nape of the taller man's neck, drawing him down until their foreheads rest against one another. The pub has emptied now, the last few stragglers have made their way down the street, unheeding of the two lives that are changing a mere meter or two away from them, and as a hush falls around them, blue eyes meeting blue, Killian is almost certain he can hear the moon overhead whisper his earlier statement, stars echoing it with a playful chuckle.

Hello, Gorgeous.